Johanna Spyri was a Swiss author of children's stories, best known for Heidi. Born Johanna Louise Heusser in the rural area of Hirzel, Switzerland, as a child she spent several summers in the area around Chur in Graubünden, the setting she later would use in her novels.

Chapter 1 : Heidi’s First Mountain Climb

On a bright June morning two figures—one a tall girl and the other a child—could be seen climbing a narrow mountain path that winds up from the pretty village of Mayenfeld, to the lofty heights of the Alm mountain. In spite of the hot June sun the child was clothed as if to keep off the bitterest frost. She did not look more than five years old, but what her natural figure was like would be hard to say, for she had on apparently two dresses, one above the other, and over these a thick red woolen shawl. Her small feet were shod in thick, nailed mountain-shoes.

When the wayfarers came to the hamlet known as Doerfli, which is situated half-way up the mountain, they met with greetings from all sides, for the elder girl was now in her old home. As they were leaving the village, a voice called out: “Wait a moment, Dete; if you are going on up the mountain, I will come along with you.”

The girl thus addressed stood still, and the child immediately let go her hand and seated herself on the ground.

“Are you tired, Heidi?” asked her companion.

“No, I am hot,” answered the child.

“We shall soon get to the top now. You must walk bravely on a little longer, and take good, long steps, and in another hour we shall be there,” said Dete.

They were now joined by a stout, good-natured looking woman, who walked on ahead with her old acquaintance.

“And where are you going with the child?” asked the one who had just joined the party. “I suppose it is the child your sister left?”

“Yes,” answered Dete. “I am taking her up to Uncle, where she must stay.”

“This child stay up there with Alm-Uncle! You must be out of your senses, Dete! How can you think of such a thing! The old man, however, will soon send you both packing off home again!”

“He cannot very well do that, seeing that he is her grandfather. He must do something for her. I have had the charge of the child till now, and I can tell you, Barbel, I am not going to give up the chance which has just fallen to me of getting a good place, for her sake.”

“That would be all very well if he were like other people,” said Barbel, “but you know what he is. And what can he do with a child, especially with one so young! The child cannot possibly live with him. But where are you thinking of going yourself?”

“To Frankfurt, where an extra good place awaits me,” answered Dete.

“I am glad I am not the child,” exclaimed Barbel. “Not a creature knows anything about the old man up there. He will have nothing to do with anybody, and never sets his foot inside a church from one year’s end to another. When he does come down once in a while, everybody clears out of his way. The mere sight of him, with his bushy, grey eyebrows and immense beard, is alarming enough. All kinds of things are said about him. You, Dete, however, must certainly have learnt a good deal concerning him from your sister.”

“Yes, but I am not going to repeat what I heard. Suppose it should come to his ears. I should get into no end of trouble about it.”

Barbel put her arm through Dete’s in a confidential sort of way, and said: “Now do just tell me what is wrong with the old man. Was he always shunned as he is now, and was he always so cross? I assure you I will hold my tongue if you will tell me.”

“Very well then, I will tell you—but just wait a moment,” said Dete, looking around for Heidi who had slipped away unnoticed.

“I see where she is,” exclaimed Barbel, “look over there!” and she pointed to a spot far away from the footpath. “She is climbing up the slope yonder with Peter and his goats. But tell me about the old man. Did he ever have anything more than his two goats and his hut?”

“I should think so indeed,” replied Dete with animation; “he was at one time the owner of one of the largest farms in Domleschg, where my mother used to live. But he drank and gambled away the whole of his property, and when this became known to his mother and father they died of sorrow, one shortly after the other. Uncle, having nothing left to him but his bad name, disappeared and it was heard that he had gone to Naples as a soldier. After twelve or fifteen years he reappeared in Domleschg, bringing with him a young son whom he tried to place with some of his kinspeople. Every door, however, was shut in his face, for no one wished to have any more to do with him. Embittered by this treatment, he vowed never to set foot in Domleschg again, and he then came to Doerfli where he lived with his little boy. His wife, it seemed, had died shortly after the child’s birth. He must have accumulated some money during his absence, for he apprenticed his son Tobias to a carpenter. He was a steady lad, and kindly received by everyone in Doerfli. His father, however, was still looked upon with suspicion, and it was even rumored that he had killed a man in some brawl at Naples.”

“But why does everyone call him Uncle? Surely he can’t be uncle to everyone living in Doerfli,” asked Barbel.

“Our grandmothers were related, so we used to call him Uncle, and as my father had family connections with so many people in Doerfli, soon everyone fell into the habit of calling him Uncle,” explained Dete.

“And what happened to Tobias,” further questioned Barbel, who was listening with deep interest.

“Tobias was taught his trade in Mels, and when he had served his apprenticeship he came back to Doerfli and married my sister Adelaide. But their happiness did not last long. Two years after their marriage Tobias was killed in an accident. His wife was so overcome with grief that she fell into a fever from which she never recovered. She had always been rather delicate and subject to curious attacks, during which no one knew whether she was awake or sleeping. And so two months after Tobias had been carried to the grave, his wife followed him. Their sad fate was the talk of everybody far and near, and the general opinion was expressed that it was a punishment which Uncle deserved for the godless life he had led. Our minister endeavored to awaken his conscience, but the old man grew only more wrathful and stubborn and would not speak to a soul. All at once we heard that he had gone to live up on the Alm mountain and that he did not intend to come down again. Since then he has led his solitary life up there, and everyone knows him now by the name of Alm-Uncle. Mother and I took Adelaide’s little one, then only a year old, into our care. When mother died last year, and I went down to the Baths to earn some money, I paid old Ursel to take care of her. So you see I have done my duty, now it’s Uncle’s turn. But where are you going to yourself, Barbel? We are now half way up the Alm.”

“We have just reached the place I wanted,” answered Barbel. “I must see Peter’s mother who is doing some spinning for me. So, good-bye, Dete, and good luck to you.”

She went toward a small, dark brown hut, which stood a few steps away from the path in a hollow that afforded it some protection from the mountain wind.

Here lived Peter, the eleven-year-old boy, with his mother Brigitta and his blind grandmother who was known to all the old and young in the neighborhood as just “Grandmother.”

Every morning Peter went down to Doerfli to bring up a flock of goats to browse on the mountain. At sundown he went skipping down the mountain again with his light-footed animals. When he reached Doerfli he would give a shrill whistle, whereupon all the owners of the goats would come out to take home the animals that belonged to them.

Dete had been standing for a good ten minutes looking about her in every direction for some sign of the children and the goats. Meanwhile Heidi and the goatherd were climbing up by a far and roundabout way, for Peter knew many spots where all kinds of good food, in the shape of shrubs and plants, grew for his goats. The child, exhausted with the heat and weight of her thick clothes, panted and struggled after him, at first with some difficulty. She said nothing, but her little eyes kept watching first Peter, as he sprang nimbly hither and thither on his bare feet, clad only in his short, light breeches, and then the slim-legged goats that went leaping over rocks and shrubs. All at once she sat down on the ground, and began pulling off her shoes and stockings. Then she unwound the hot red shawl and took off her frock. But there was still another to unfasten, for Dete had put the Sunday dress on over the everyday one, to save the trouble of carrying it. Quick as lightning the everyday frock followed the other, and now the child stood up, clad only in her light short-sleeved under garment. She stretched out her little bare arms with glee. Leaving all her clothes together in a tidy little heap, she went jumping and climbing up after Peter and the goats as nimbly as any of the party.

Now that Heidi was able to move at her ease, she began to enter into conversation with Peter. She asked him how many goats he had, where he was going to with them, and what he had to do when he arrived there. At last, after some time, they came within view of Dete. Hardly had the latter caught sight of the little company climbing up towards her when she shrieked out: “Heidi, what have you been doing! What a sight you have made of yourself! And where are your two frocks and the red wrapper? And the new shoes I bought, and the new stockings I knitted for you—everything gone! not a thing left! What can you have been thinking of, Heidi; where are all your clothes?”

The child quietly pointed to a spot below on the mountain side and answered, “Down there.”

“You good-for-nothing little thing!” exclaimed Dete angrily, “what could have put it into your head to do that? What made you undress yourself? What do you mean by it?”

“I don’t want any clothes,” said Heidi.

“You wretched, thoughtless child! have you no sense in you at all?” continued Dete, scolding and lamenting. “Peter, you go down and fetch them for me as quickly as you can, and you shall have something nice,” and she held out a bright new piece of money to him that sparkled in the sun. Peter was immediately off down the steep mountain side, taking the shortest cut, and was back again so quickly with the clothes that even Dete was obliged to give him a word of praise as she handed him the promised money. Peter promptly thrust it into his pocket and his face beamed with delight, for it was not often that he was the happy possessor of such riches.

“You can carry the things up for me as far as Uncle’s, as you are going the same way,” went on Dete, who was preparing to continue her climb up the mountain side, which rose in a steep ascent immediately behind the goatherd’s hut. Peter willingly undertook to do this, and followed after her. After a climb of more than three-quarters of an hour they reached the top of the Alm mountain. Uncle’s hut stood on a projection of the rock, exposed indeed to the winds, but where every ray of sun could rest upon it, and a full view could be had of the valley beneath. Behind the hut stood three old fir trees, with long, thick, unlopped branches. Beyond these rose a further wall of mountain, the lower heights still overgrown with beautiful grass and plants.

Against the hut, on the side looking towards the valley, Uncle had put up a seat. Here he was sitting, his pipe in his mouth and his hands on his knees, quietly looking out, when the children, the goats, and Dete suddenly clambered into view. Heidi was at the top first. She went straight up to the old man, put out her hand, and said, “Good-evening, Grandfather.”

“So, so, what is the meaning of this?” he asked gruffly, as he gave the child an abrupt shake of the hand, and gazed at her from under his bushy eyebrows. Heidi stared steadily back at him in return with unflinching gaze. Meanwhile Dete had come up, with Peter after her.

“I wish you good-day, Uncle,” said Dete, as she walked towards him, “and I have brought you Tobias and Adelaide’s child. You will hardly recognize her, as you have never seen her since she was a year old.”

“And what has the child to do with me up here?” asked the old man curtly. “You there,” he then called out to Peter, “be off with your goats, you are none too early as it is, and take mine with you.”

Peter obeyed on the instant and quickly disappeared.

“The child is here to remain with you,” Dete made answer. “I have done my duty by her for these four years, and now it is time for you to do yours.”

“That’s it, is it?” said the old man, as he looked at her with a flash in his eye. “And when the child begins to fret and whine after you, what am I to do with her then?”

“That’s your affair,” retorted Dete. “If you cannot arrange to keep her, do with her as you like. You will be answerable for the result if harm happens to her, though you have hardly need to add to the burden already on your conscience.”

Now Dete was not quite easy in her own conscience about what she was doing, and consequently was feeling hot and irritable, and said more than she had intended. As she uttered her last words, Uncle rose from his seat. He looked at her in a way that made her draw back a step or two, then flinging out his arm, he said to her in a commanding voice: “Be off with you this instant, and get back as quickly as you can to the place whence you came, and do not let me see your face again in a hurry.”

Dete did not wait to be told twice. “Good-bye to you then, and to you too, Heidi,” she called, as she turned quickly away and started to descend the mountain at a running pace, which she did not slacken till she found herself safely again at Doerfli.

Chapter 2 : A New Home with Grandfather

As soon as Dete had disappeared the old man went back to his bench, and there he remained seated, staring at the ground without uttering a sound, while thick curls of smoke floated upward from his pipe. Heidi, meanwhile, was enjoying herself in her new surroundings; she looked about till she found a shed, built against the hut, where the goats were kept; she peeped in, and saw it was empty. She continued her search but presently came back to where her grandfather was sitting. Seeing that he was in exactly the same position as when she left him, she went and placed herself in front of the old man and said:

“I want to see what you have inside the house.”

“Come then!” and the grandfather rose and went before her towards the hut.

“Bring your bundle of clothes in with you,” he bid her as she was following.

“I shan’t want them anymore,” was her prompt answer.

The old man turned and looked searchingly at the child, whose dark eyes were sparkling in delighted anticipation of what she was going to see inside. “She is certainly not wanting in intelligence,” he murmured to himself. “And why shall you not want them anymore?” he asked aloud.

“Because I want to go about like the goats with their thin light legs.”

“Well, you can do so if you like,” said her grandfather, “but bring the things in, we must put them in the cupboard.”

Heidi did as she was told. The old man now opened the door and Heidi stepped inside after him; she found herself in a good-sized room, which covered the whole ground floor of the hut. A table and a chair were the only furniture; in one corner stood the grandfather’s bed, in another was the hearth with a large kettle hanging above it; and on the further side was a large door in the wall—this was the cupboard. The grandfather opened it; inside were his clothes. On a second shelf were some plates and cups and glasses, and on a higher one still, a round loaf, smoked meat, and cheese, for everything that Alm-Uncle needed for his food and clothing was kept in this cupboard. Heidi thrust in her bundle of clothes, as far back behind her grandfather’s things as possible, so that they might not easily be found again. She then looked carefully round the room, and asked, “Where am I to sleep, Grandfather?”

“Wherever you like,” he answered.

Heidi was delighted, and began at once to examine all the nooks and corners to find out where it would be pleasantest to sleep. In the corner near her grandfather’s bed she saw a short ladder against the wall; up she climbed and found herself in the hay-loft. There lay a large heap of fresh, sweet-smelling hay, while through a round window in the wall she could see right down the valley.

“I shall sleep up here, Grandfather,” she called down to him, “it’s lovely, up here. Come up and see how lovely it is!”

“Oh, I know all about it,” he called up in answer.

“I am getting the bed ready now,” she called down again, as she went busily to and fro at her work, “but I shall want you to bring me up a sheet; you can’t have a bed without a sheet; you want it to lie upon.”

“All right,” said the grandfather, and presently he went to the cupboard, and after rummaging about inside for a few minutes he drew out a long, coarse piece of stuff, which was all he had to do duty for a sheet. He carried it up to the loft, where he found Heidi had already made quite a nice bed. She had put an extra heap of hay at one end for a pillow, and had so arranged it that, when in bed, she would be able to see comfortably out through the round window.

“That is capital,” said her grandfather; “now we must put on the sheet.”

They spread it over the bed, and where it was too long or too broad, Heidi quickly tucked it in under the hay. It looked as tidy and comfortable a bed as you could wish for, and Heidi stood gazing thoughtfully at her handiwork.

“We have forgotten something now, Grandfather,” she said after a short silence.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“A coverlid; when you get into bed, you have to creep in between the sheet and the coverlid.”

“Oh, that’s the way, is it? But suppose I have not got a coverlid?” said the old man.

“Well, never mind, Grandfather,” said Heidi in a consoling tone of voice, “I can take some more hay to put over me,” and she was turning quickly to fetch another armful from the heap, when her grandfather stopped her. “Wait a moment,” he said, and he climbed down the ladder again and went towards his bed. He returned to the loft with a large, thick sack, made of flax, which he laid tidily over the bed.

“That is a splendid coverlid,” said Heidi, “and the bed looks lovely altogether! I wish it was night, so that I might get inside it at once.”

“I think we had better go down and have something to eat first,” said the grandfather.

While the kettle was boiling the old man held a large piece of cheese on a long iron fork over the fire, turning it round and round till it was toasted a nice golden yellow color on each side. Heidi watched all that was going on with eager curiosity. Suddenly some new idea seemed to come into her head, for she turned and ran to the cupboard, and then began going busily backwards and forwards. Presently the grandfather got up and came to the table with a jug and the cheese, and there he saw it already tidily laid with the round loaf and two plates and two knives each in its right place.

“Ah, that’s right,” said the grandfather, “I am glad to see that you have some ideas of your own,” and as he spoke he laid the toasted cheese on a layer of bread, “but there is still something missing.”

Heidi looked at the jug that was steaming away invitingly, and ran quickly back to the cupboard. At first she could only see a small bowl left on the shelf, but she was not long in perplexity, for a moment later she caught sight of two glasses further back, and without an instant’s loss of time she returned with these and the bowl and put them down on the table.

“Good, I see you know how to set about things; but what will you do for a seat?” The grandfather himself was sitting on the only chair in the room. Heidi flew to the hearth, and dragging the three-legged stool up to the table, sat herself down upon it.

The grandfather filled the bowl with milk, and pushed it in front of Heidi. Then he brought her a large slice of bread and a piece of the golden cheese, and told her to eat. Heidi lifted the bowl with both hands and drank without pause till it was empty, for the thirst of all her long, hot journey had returned upon her. Then she drew a deep breath—in the eagerness of her thirst she had not stopped to breathe—and put down the bowl.

“Was the milk nice?” he asked.

“I never drank any so good before,” answered Heidi.

“Then you must have some more,” and the old man filled her bowl again to the brim and set it before the child, who was now hungrily beginning her bread, having first spread it with the cheese, which after being toasted was soft as butter. The meal being over, the grandfather went outside to put the goat-shed in order, and Heidi watched with interest while he first swept it out, and then put fresh straw for the goats to sleep upon. Then he went to the little well-shed, and there he cut some long, round sticks, and a small, round board; in this he bored some holes and stuck the sticks into them, and there, as if made by magic, was a three-legged stool just like her grandfather’s, only higher. Heidi stood and looked at it, speechless with astonishment.

“What do you think that is?” asked her grandfather.

“It’s my stool, I know, because it is such a high one; and it was made all of a minute,” said the child, still lost in wonder and admiration.

“She understands what she sees, her eyes are in the right place,” remarked the grandfather to himself.

And so the time passed happily on till evening. Then the wind began to roar louder than ever through the old fir trees; Heidi listened with delight to the sound, and it filled her heart so full of gladness that she skipped and danced round the old trees, as if some unheard of joy had come to her. The grandfather stood and watched her from the shed.

Suddenly a shrill whistle was heard. Down from the heights above, the goats came springing one after another, with Peter in their midst. Heidi sprang forward with a cry of joy and rushed among the flock, greeting first one and then another of her old friends of the morning. As they neared the hut the goats stood still, and then two of their number, two beautiful, slender animals, one white and one brown, ran forward to where the grandfather was standing and began licking his hands, for he was holding a little salt which he always had ready for his goats on their return home. Peter went on down the mountain with the remainder of his flock. Heidi tenderly stroked the two goats in turn, jumping about in her glee at the pretty little animals. “Are they ours, Grandfather? Are they both ours? Are you going to put them in the shed? Will they always stay with us?”

Heidi’s questions came tumbling out one after the other, so that her grandfather had only time to answer each of them with “Yes, yes.” When the goats had finished licking up the salt her grandfather told her to go and fetch her bowl and the bread.

Heidi obeyed and was soon back again. The grandfather milked the white goat and filled her basin, and then breaking off a piece of bread, “Now eat your supper,” he said, “and then go up to bed. Dete left another little bundle for you with a nightgown and other small things in it, which you will find at the bottom of the cupboard if you want them. I must go and shut up the goats, so be off and sleep well.”

“Good-night, Grandfather! good-night. What are their names, Grandfather, what are their names?” she called out as she ran after his retreating figure and the goats.

“The white one is named Little Swan, and the brown one Little Bear,” he answered.

“Good-night, Little Swan, good-night, Little Bear!” she called again at the top of her voice. Then she ate her supper and went indoors and climbed up to her bed, where she was soon lying as sweetly and soundly asleep as any young princess on her couch of silk.

Chapter 3 : Little Bear and Little Swan

Heidi felt very happy next morning as she woke up in her new home and remembered all the many things that she had seen the day before and which she would see again that day, and above all she thought with delight of the dear goats. She jumped quickly out of bed and a very few minutes sufficed her to put on the clothes which she had taken off the night before, for there were not many of them. Then she climbed down the ladder and ran outside the hut. There stood Peter already with his flock of goats, and the grandfather was just bringing his two out of the shed to join the others. Heidi ran forward to wish good-morning to him and the goats.

“Do you want to go with them on to the mountain?” asked her grandfather. Nothing could have pleased Heidi better, and she jumped for joy in answer.

The grandfather went inside the hut, calling to Peter to follow him and bring in his wallet. Peter obeyed with astonishment, and laid down the little bag which held his meagre dinner.

“Open it,” said the old man, and he put in a large piece of bread and an equally large piece of cheese, which made Peter open his eyes, for each was twice the size of the two portions which he had for his own dinner.

“There, now there is only the little bowl to add,” continued the grandfather, “for the child cannot drink her milk as you do from the goat; she is not accustomed to that. You must milk two bowlfuls for her when she has her dinner, for she is going with you and will remain with you till you return this evening; but take care she does not fall over any of the rocks, do you hear?”

They started joyfully for the mountain. Heidi went running hither and thither and shouting with delight, for here were whole patches of delicate red primroses, and there the blue gleam of the lovely gentian, while above them all laughed and nodded the tender-leaved golden cistus. Enchanted with all this waving field of brightly-colored flowers, Heidi forgot even Peter and the goats. She ran on in front and then off to the side, tempted first one way and then the other, as she caught sight of some bright spot of glowing red or yellow. And all the while she was plucking whole handfuls of the flowers which she put into her little apron, for she wanted to take them all home and stick them in the hay, so that she might make her bedroom look just like the meadows outside. Peter had therefore to be on the alert, and his round eyes, which did not move very quickly, had more work than they could well manage, for the goats were as lively as Heidi; they ran in all directions, and Peter had to follow whistling and calling and swinging his stick to get all the runaways together again.

Finally they arrived at the spot where Peter generally halted for his goats to pasture and where he took up his quarters for the day. It lay at the foot of the high rocks, which were covered for some distance up by bushes and fir trees, beyond which rose their bare and rugged summits. On one side of the mountain the rock was split into deep clefts, and the grandfather had reason to warn Peter of danger. Having climbed as far as the halting-place, Peter unslung his wallet and put it carefully in a little hollow of the ground, for he knew what the wind was like up there and did not want to see his precious belonging sent rolling down the mountain by a sudden gust. Then he threw himself at full length on the warm ground, and soon fell asleep.

Heidi meanwhile had unfastened her apron and rolling it carefully round the flowers laid it beside Peter’s wallet inside the hollow; she then sat down beside his outstretched figure and looked about her.

The goats were climbing about among the bushes overhead. She had never felt so happy in her life before. She drank in the golden sunlight, the fresh air, the sweet smell of the flowers, and wished for nothing better than to remain there forever. Suddenly she heard a loud, harsh cry overhead and lifting her eyes she saw a bird, larger than any she had ever seen before, with great, spreading wings, wheeling round in wide circles, and uttering a piercing, croaking kind of sound above her.

“Peter, Peter, wake up!” called out Heidi. “See, the great bird is there—look, look!”

Peter got up on hearing her call, and together they sat and watched the bird, which rose higher and higher in the blue air till it disappeared behind the grey mountain-tops.

“Where has it gone to?” asked Heidi, who had followed the bird’s movements with intense interest.

“Home to its nest,” said Peter.

“Is his home right up there? Oh, how nice to be up so high! why does he make that noise?”

“Because he can’t help it,” explained Peter.

“Let us climb up there and see where his nest is,” proposed Heidi.

“Oh! oh! oh!” exclaimed Peter, his disapproval of Heidi’s suggestion becoming more marked with each ejaculation, “why, even the goats cannot climb as high as that, besides didn’t Uncle say that you were not to fall over the rocks.”

Peter now began suddenly whistling and calling in such a loud manner that Heidi could not think what was happening; but the goats evidently understood his voice, for one after the other they came springing down the rocks until they were all assembled on the green plateau.

Heidi jumped up and ran in and out among them, for it was new to her to see the goats playing together like this. Meanwhile Peter had taken the wallet out of the hollow and placed the pieces of bread and cheese on the ground in the shape of a square, the larger two on Heidi’s side and the smaller on his own, for he knew exactly which were hers and which his. Then he took the little bowl and milked some delicious, fresh milk into it from the white goat, and afterwards set the bowl in the middle of the square.

“Leave off jumping about, it is time for dinner,” said Peter; “sit down now and begin.”

Heidi sat down. “Is the milk for me?” she asked.

“Yes,” replied Peter, “and the two large pieces of bread and cheese are yours also, and when you have drunk up that milk, you are to have another bowlful from the white goat, and then it will be my turn.”

“And which do you get your milk from,” inquired Heidi.

“From my own goat, the piebald one. But go on now with your dinner,” said Peter, again reminding her it was time to eat. Heidi took up the bowl and drank her milk, and as soon as she had put it down empty Peter rose and filled it again for her. Then she broke off a piece of her bread and held out the remainder, which was still larger than Peter’s own piece, together with the whole big slice of cheese to her companion, saying, “You can have that, I have plenty.”

Peter looked at Heidi, unable to speak for astonishment. He hesitated a moment, for he could not believe that Heidi was in earnest; but the latter kept on holding out the bread and cheese, and as Peter still did not take it, she laid it down on his knees. He saw then that she really meant it; he seized the food, nodded his thanks and acceptance of her present, and then made a more splendid meal than he had known ever since he was a goat-herd. Heidi the while still continued to watch the goats. “Tell me all their names,” she said.

Peter knew these by heart, so he began, telling Heidi the name of each goat in turn as he pointed it out to her. She listened with great attention, and it was not long before she could herself distinguish the goats from one another and could call each by name, for every goat had its own peculiarities which could not easily be mistaken. There was the great Turk with his big horns, who was always wanting to butt the others, so that most of them ran away when they saw him coming and would have nothing to do with their rough companion. Only Greenfinch, the slender, nimble, little goat, was brave enough to face him, and would make a rush at him, three or four times in succession. Then there was little White Snowflake, who bleated in such a plaintive and beseeching manner that Heidi already had several times run to it and taken its head in her hands to comfort it. Just at this moment the pleading young cry was heard again, and Heidi jumped up running and, putting her arms around the little creature’s neck, asked in a sympathetic voice, “What is it, little Snowflake? Why do you call like that as if in trouble?” The goat pressed closer to Heidi in a confiding way and left off bleating. Peter called out from where he was sitting—for he had not yet got to the end of his bread and cheese—”she cries like that because the old goat is not with her; she was sold at Mayenfeld the day before yesterday, and so will not come up the mountain anymore.”

“Who is the old goat?” called Heidi back.

“Why, her mother, of course,” was the answer.

“Where is the grandmother?” called Heidi again.

“She has none.”

“And the grandfather?”

“She has none.”

“Oh, you poor little Snowflake!” exclaimed Heidi, clasping the animal gently to her, “but do not cry like that anymore; see now, I shall come up here with you every day, so that you will not be alone any more, and if you want anything you have only to come to me.”

The goats were now beginning to climb the rocks again, each seeking for the plants it liked in its own fashion, some jumping over everything they met till they found what they wanted, others going more carefully and cropping all the nice leaves by the way, the Turk still now and then giving the others a poke with his horns. Little Swan and Little Bear clambered lightly up and never failed to find the best bushes, and then they would stand gracefully poised on their pretty legs, delicately nibbling at the leaves. Heidi stood with her hands behind her back, carefully noting all they did.

“Peter,” she said to the boy who had again thrown himself down on the ground, “the prettiest of all the goats are Little Swan and Little Bear.”

“Yes, I know they are,” was the answer. “Alm-Uncle brushes them down and washes them and gives them salt, and he has the nicest shed for them.”

All of a sudden Peter leaped to his feet and ran hastily after the goats. Heidi followed him as fast as she could, for she was too eager to know what had happened to stay behind. Peter dashed through the middle of the flock towards that side of the mountain where the rocks fell perpendicularly to a great depth below, and where any thoughtless goat, if it went too near, might fall over and break all its legs. He had caught sight of the inquisitive Greenfinch taking leaps in that direction, and he was only just in time, for the animal had already sprung to the edge of the abyss. All Peter could do was to throw himself down and seize one of her hind legs. Greenfinch, thus taken by surprise, began bleating furiously, angry at being held so fast and prevented from continuing her voyage of discovery. She struggled to get loose, and endeavored so obstinately to leap forward that Peter shouted to Heidi to come and help him, for he could not get up and was afraid of pulling out the goat’s leg altogether.

Heidi had already run up and she saw at once the danger both Peter and the animal were in. She quickly gathered a bunch of sweet-smelling leaves, and then, holding them under Greenfinch’s nose, said coaxingly, “Come, come, Greenfinch, you must not be naughty! Look, you might fall down there and break your leg, and that would give you dreadful pain!”

The young animal turned quickly and began contentedly eating the leaves out of Heidi’s hand. Meanwhile Peter got on to his feet again and took hold of Greenfinch by the band round her neck from which her bell was hung, and Heidi taking hold of her in the same way on the other side, they led the wanderer back to the rest of the flock that had remained peacefully feeding. Peter, now he had his goat in safety, lifted his stick in order to give her a good beating as punishment, and Greenfinch seeing what was coming shrank back in fear. But Heidi cried out, “No, no, Peter, you must not strike her; see how frightened she is!”

“She deserves it,” growled Peter, and again lifted his stick. Then Heidi flung herself against him and cried indignantly, “You have no right to touch her, it will hurt her, let her alone!”

Peter looked with surprise at the commanding little figure, whose dark eyes were flashing, and reluctantly he let his stick drop. “Well, I will let her off if you will give me some more of your cheese tomorrow,” he said, for he was determined to have something to make up to him for his fright.

“You shall have it all, tomorrow and every day, I do not want it,” replied Heidi, giving ready consent to his demand. “And I will give you bread as well, a large piece like you had today; but then you must promise never to beat Greenfinch, or Snowflake, or any of the goats.”

“All right,” said Peter, “I don’t care,” which meant that he would agree to the bargain, and let go of Greenfinch, who joyfully sprang to join her companions.

And thus imperceptibly the day had crept on to its close, and now the sun was on the point of sinking out of sight behind the high mountains. Heidi was again sitting on the ground, when all at once she sprang to her feet, “Peter! Peter! everything is on fire! All the rocks are burning, and the great snow mountain and the sky! O look, look! the high rock up there is red with flame! O the beautiful, fiery snow! Stand up, Peter! See, the fire has reached the great bird’s nest! look at the rocks! look at the fir trees! Everything, everything is on fire!”

“It is always like that,” said Peter composedly, continuing to peel his stick; “but it is not really fire.”

“What is it then?” cried Heidi.

“It gets like that of itself,” explained Peter.

“Look, look!” cried Heidi in fresh excitement, “now they have turned all rose color! Look at that one covered with snow, and that with the high, pointed rocks! What do you call them?”

“Mountains have not any names,” he answered.

“O how beautiful, look at the crimson snow! And up there on the rocks there are ever so many roses! Oh! now they are turning grey! Oh! oh! now all the color has died away! it’s all gone, Peter.” And Heidi sat down on the ground looking as full of distress as if everything had really come to an end.

“It will come again tomorrow,” said Peter. “Get up, we must go home now.” He whistled to his goats and together they all started on their homeward way.

“Is it like that every day, shall we see it every day when we bring the goats up here?” asked Heidi, as she clambered down the mountain at Peter’s side; she waited eagerly for his answer, hoping that he would tell her it was so.

“It is like that most days,” he replied.

“But will it be like that tomorrow for certain?” Heidi persisted.

“Yes, yes, tomorrow for certain,” Peter assured her in answer.

Heidi now felt quite happy again, and her little brain was so full of new impressions and new thoughts that she did not speak any more until they had reached the hut. The grandfather was sitting under the fir trees, where he had put up a new seat.

Heidi ran up to him, followed by the white and brown goats, for they knew their own master and stall. Peter called out after her, “Come with me again tomorrow! Good-night!” For he was anxious for more than one reason that Heidi should go with him the next day.

“O, Grandfather,” cried Heidi, “it was so beautiful. The fire, and the roses on the rocks, and the blue and yellow flowers, and look what I have brought you!” And opening the apron that held her flowers she shook them all out at her grandfather’s feet. But the poor flowers, how changed they were! Heidi hardly knew them again. They looked like dried bits of hay, not a single little flower cup stood open. “O, Grandfather, what is the matter with them?” exclaimed Heidi in shocked surprise, “they were not like that this morning, why do they look so now?”

“They like to stand out there in the sun and not to be shut up in an apron,” said her grandfather.

“Then I will never gather any more. But, Grandfather, why did the great bird go on croaking so?” she continued in an eager tone of inquiry.

“Go along now and get into your bath while I go and get some milk; when we are together at supper I will tell you all about it.”

Heidi obeyed, and when later she was sitting on her high stool before her milk bowl with her grandfather beside her, she repeated her question, “Why does the great bird go on croaking and screaming down at us, Grandfather?”

“He is mocking at the people who live down below in the villages, because they all go huddling and gossipping together, and encourage one another in evil talking and deeds. He calls out, ‘If you would separate and each go your own way and come up here and live on a height as I do, it would be better for you!’“ there was almost a wildness in the old man’s voice as he spoke, so that Heidi seemed to hear the croaking of the bird again even more distinctly.

“Why haven’t the mountains any names?” Heidi went on.

“They have names,” answered her grandfather, “and if you can describe one of them to me that I know I will tell you what it is called.”

Heidi then described to him the rocky mountain with the two high peaks so exactly that the grandfather was delighted. “Just so, I know it,” and he told her its name.

Then Heidi told him of the mountain with the great snowfield, and how it had been on fire.

The grandfather explained to her it was the sun that did it. “When he says good-night to the mountains he throws his most beautiful colors over them, so that they may not forget him before he comes again the next day.”

Heidi was delighted with this explanation, and could hardly bear to wait for another day to come that she might once more climb up with the goats and see how the sun bid good-night to the mountains. But she had to go to bed first, and all night she slept soundly on her bed of hay, dreaming of nothing but of shining mountains with red roses all over them, among which happy little Snowflake went leaping in and out.